Night Watch
by PearlQ19
Summary: Just a look into John Locke's head on a late evening. Oneshot. Set shortly before Tricia Tanaka Is Dead, during Kate, Jack and Sawyer's absence.


_A/N: This is my first LOST fanfiction ever, so please be nice :) I've had the idea for quite some time, but somehow I never really got around to writing it up. But here it is, even though there's not much of my original concept left… Which means, though, that I might return with another LOST fanfic, who knows ;)_

_The usual "non-native speaker" warning applies – if you spot any mistakes, please tell me! And don't forget your review :)_

_Classification: One-shot set in season 3. Not quite clear when… Shortly before "Tricia Tanaka Is Dead", I'd say. Hence – SPOILER ALERT. _

_I actually didn't plan to leave out Kate and Sawyer, but otherwise this doesn't fit in the show, and I don't want to make it AU. Since Kate leaves again right after coming back, there was no way it would have worked out. Those among you who have read some of my other stories know that I always like to stay canon…_

_Oh, and the narrator is Locke, by the way._

_Disclaimer: LOST and its characters ain't mine, and I bow to their ingenious creators, Damon Lindelof and J.J. Abrams._

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**Nightwatch**

Darkness is falling quickly over the Island and the stars begin to sparkle. Exhausted from the day, my fellow castaways don't stay up very long these days. At the moment, they're still sitting in groups large and small around the fires, but soon they will leave one by one and go to bed.

I can't blame them. We've all gotten accustomed to living on the Island, without all the mod cons, and when there's no local pub to have a quick beer or a TV to catch a movie, there is little you can do to prolong your evenings. You can talk, of course, chat away with the others, but when the number of possible interlocutors is limited from the very beginning, you are bound to run out of topics sooner or later. Besides, you don't get along equally well with everyone – which limits that number even further. And sometimes, you just don't feel like talking.

I, for once, prefer to sit and watch for most of the time. When I engage in conversation, I want it to be worth it. I feel no desire to discuss "10 things from the outside world I miss the most" or "10 things I still would have done, had I known I'd end up here" with someone I barely know.

That doesn't mean I resent any kind of small talk. Social interaction is important, even vital in our situation, and I am not at all opposed to getting to know everyone around me. But the last hours of the day are sacred to me, and I don't want them tarnished by trivialities.

The "A-Team", as the others have come to call the group around Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Sayid, and myself – sometimes including a few more – know me better by now; they respect what I am and feel. To the others, I am simply a bald-headed loner with a tough demeanor and a talent to wield my hunting knife. And perhaps they are under the misconception that I don't care for anything.

That's not true. I do care. Part of the reason why I like sitting up late, watching the last embers of the fires flicker and die, is that I listen into the stillness and communicate with the Island. I'm asking it not to hurt anyone. I'm still convinced that the Island has a life of its own and that we should treat it with respect, if not reverence. But I want it to show us some respect in return.

Oh yes, I care for my fellow castaways.

Some are already leaving their fires, heading for their "homes". I'm putting the "homes" in mental inverted commas, but I wonder how long it will be until I just leave them out. How long it will be until the Island has really become our home…

Hurley and Sayid are talking at the fire nearest to me. I feel sorry for Hurley every time I look at him. He must be missing Libby very badly. They had become friends and had just been about to get something else started… I would have wanted Hurley to find someone who loved him. Everyone likes him, but he deserves more. Sometimes I think Hurley is the heart of our group. I'm glad that he and Sayid get along well. Sayid has his issues, too; he is still a sort of mystery to me, but I've come to trust him and rely on him in many ways. He always finds the right words to say – despite, or even because of the fact that he is not talking in his native language. Sometimes it is easier to express things in another language than your own mother tongue. And Sayid probably knows best what Hurley is going through at the moment. He also lost someone he loved…

Charlie and Claire are in front of their hut. They look very peaceful together; Charlie is lying with his head in Claire's lap, and she is holding Baby Aaron. They seem to talk to each other. Just as I look at them, Charlie stretches out his arms and takes the baby from her. He cradles the little guy against his chest and gently rocks him while Claire is running her fingers through Charlie's hair, watching him play with her son. I'm glad the two of them finally reconciled.

Desmond sits alone in front of his own hut, nursing a bottle of whiskey he must have nicked from Sawyer's deserted place. I'm worried about Desmundo, as Hurley likes to call him. He's drinking an awful lot these days. And he has this look in his eyes, this haunted look of someone who cannot escape his demons. Maybe I should try and talk to him.

But not now. I'm only watching. And Desmond is getting company now, anyway; Scott or Steve _(it's Steve; Scott is dead, why can't I remember?!)_ joins him. Desmond generously offers the bottle to him and the other man accepts.

I let my gaze wander further around the beach. Jin and Sun have already retired, and so have Rose and Bernard. But a couple is walking along the beach in the shallow water. They walk slowly, engaged in conversation. They seem to be close. I keep looking, trying to make out who it is, and finally conclude that it has to be Nikki and Paolo.

Those two are still a sort of mystery to me at the moment. I don't really know anything about them. Where did they come from? What is their back story? Why were they on flight 815? They have always been there in the background, but all of a sudden, they stepped out of the shadows and joined us – and by "us" I mean the usual suspects; the "A-team".

Come to think of it, I don't really like the way I've formulated those thoughts. It's as if our "A-Team" was the hub of the universe. We've become almost complacent, almost arrogant, in our little isolated group. We hardly ever include anyone else. But there are still forty-odd other survivors of that doomed flight on the Island. Don't they also have a right to know about everything we find out? Why do we try to keep everything to ourselves when we've seen more than once in the past that it doesn't work out?

More fires flicker and die. The beach is almost empty now. Desmond and Steve have joined Hurley and Sayid, and the bottle of whiskey is circling among the men. Well, excluding Sayid, of course. But he watches the others and a small smile is playing around his lips.

It is nice to know that he can still smile after everything he has done and seen.

Charlie and Claire have disappeared into their hut, along with Baby Aaron.

I keep looking around, and my gaze inevitably falls on Sawyer's empty place. His, and Kate's and Jack's.

How are they? What do the Others want from them? Why did they send Hurley back and keep them?

Desmond calls them the "Hostiles," and I tend to agree that that's an accurate nickname. They keep claiming they're the good ones, but it was them who sent spies, abducted some of us and even more of the tail section survivors, lied, and killed. All without any explanation.

The memory of how the false "Henry Gale" manipulated me into butting heads with Jack still embarrasses me. How _easily_ he manipulated me.

How I wish Jack was here now. Not because I feel lost without him, but simply because we all miss him and feel sort of incomplete when he's not here. And the same goes for Kate and even Sawyer, who, despite his aggressive demeanor and insolent, wise-cracking nicknames for everyone, has become an important member of our group. I wonder whether anyone knows him at all. But I reckon that while we know Sawyer, we have never met James Ford.

Hurley's going to bed now. Steve, too. Desmond stays on with Sayid, and it appears that they strike up a conversation. The bottle of whiskey is empty. I'm surprised that Desmond can still talk properly – which worries me even more; if that amount of whiskey shows hardly any effect, it means that his body is getting used to alcohol. And we really can't have another addict here.

Sorry, Charlie.

Nikki waves at me when she and Paolo return from the beach and head for their own "homes". I smile at her and wave back. I briefly watch her and Paolo walk away. I don't even know whether they are friends or more than that – or whether they knew each other before the flight. They seem to be very accustomed to one another.

_Good night_, I think, meaning everyone on the beach – including the Island itself. I'm starting to feel tired. My night watch will not be a proper night watch, after all.

But I can pride myself in being the last person being awake on the beach. Desmond has fallen asleep beside the fire and Sayid has covered him in a blanket and then gone away.

My last thoughts before I gather my belongings and leave the fireplace go out to Kate, Jack and Sawyer.

_I hope you're alright. Please come home soon._

**xxxTHE ENDxxx**


End file.
